Who's Been Stealing Office Supplies?
by Sharper Than the Sword
Summary: INCLUDES: Hapless!Ed, 1337!Al, Manchild!Mustang, Enabler!Hughes, Suppressed-Rage!Hawkeye, Colossal-Jerk!Fuhrer, Slut!Trisha, Traumatized!Elicia, Kleptomaniac!Scar, Redshirt!Soldiers, Whore!Lust, Detective!Envy and So-Obese-He-Cannot-Move!Gluttony
1. An Unholy Pact

Okay, first off- to everybody who's been reading my Doctor Who story, _it will be updated soon_. I have been tremendously busy with actual real-life things.

And an explanation of why I'm putting that on hold to publish a new Fullmetal Alchemist story- this is in celebration of the new TV series, which started airing this past Sunday. I saw the new opening and just about had an orgasm, it was so awesome.

So, about this story. This takes place in a universe that is not quite the comic and not quite the TV show. I've pretty much thrown characters in here for as long as they're entertaining, because this is really just a silly humor story. Have fun.

* * *

It was a _fantastic_ day.

Roy Mustang sang a little ditty to himself and did a happy jig as he stepped into his office that morning, earning him a set of confused looks from his subordinates.

"Looks like the Colonel's date went well," Breda muttered under his breath.

"_I'm on the top of the world…"_

"Man, does that guy ever strike out?" Falman wondered aloud.

"_Looking down upon creation…"_

"I dunno how the Colonel does it," Fuery lamented.

"_And the only explanation I can find…"_

Jean Havoc heaved a quiet sob.

"_A-boop-boop-boop-dee-doop…"_

Riza Hawkeye blinked politely.

"Fine day out today, gentlemen!" the Colonel boomed, stretching his arms over his head luxuriously. "_Fantastic_, even. Why, this is just the kinda day that makes you feel like rolling up your sleeves and getting down to work."

As one, the soldiers turned to look out the window. Out in front of Central Headquarters, the Elric Brothers were having a violent and extremely expensive-looking confrontation with what appeared to be a grotesquely obese man, a transvestite, and a whore. There was a the faint sound of Fullmetal's hands coming together, and then the top half of the hooker exploded, only to reform seconds later.

"Why, you know what?" the Flame Alchemist continued, "I do believe that today I might just sit down and get that that big pile of paperwork out of my inbox. No point putting it off, eh?"

And with that, Colonel Roy Mustang bustled over to his desk, slid a few documents off the top of the massive pile that was his inbox, and opened the desk drawer.

There was a split second of silence.

"Do any of you guys have a pen?"

Each of the soldiers sifted through their personal effects in turn, only to come up empty-handed.

"Gee, sorry, Colonel, I guess not. Huh. That's strange."

Mustang sat there for a moment, in deep philosophical though.

Then he brightened. "Oh well, guess there's nothing I can do about that. These documents will still be waiting to be filed tomorrow, right?"

There was a slight _crack_ as something inside Hawkeye snapped. Whether it was her knuckles or her mind is up for debate.

The Flame Alchemist continued. "As long as there's no work for me to do here, I think I'll bugger off 'til lunchtime. I'm gonna head down to the rec room and play air hockey."

The Colonel was long gone before anybody spoke again. The sound of shuffling papers, muffled coughs, and Hawkeye's teeth grinding filled the room until Fuery hesitantly spoke up, "H-hey… have any of you guys seen my stapler?"

* * *

The Fuhrer- being the Fuhrer, of course- did not have to come in to work at the same time as everybody else. In fact, he technically didn't have to come in at all, cause nobody was ever going to complain to his face about him being late. Still, a sense of personal responsibility and the fact that he was engineering a massive, decades-long government conspiracy meant that he showed up at the office more days than not.

That, and the fact that Fridays were Barbecue'n'Beer Day in the cafeteria. He hadn't missed a Friday in over fifty years.

So, at about ten after eleven, Fuhrer King Bradley and his faithful secretary Juliet Douglas strode through the mahogany double doors and stepped into his lushly furnished workspace.

Roy Mustang and Maes Hughes were playing a very loud game of air hockey on the table in the corner.

"Hello, boys," King Bradley smiled.

"Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you… FUCK YOU!" Maes Hughes shouted.

"I expect your ass is sore, in light of the fact that you've just been raped." Mustang jibed. "I wouldn't sit down for a while."

"Game not going too well?" Bradley asked Hughes politely.

There were two guards out in the hallway. The string of profanities that Hughes unleashed actually turned their hair white.

"HE SHOOTS HE SCORES!" Mustang crowed triumphantly.

Bradley smiled and sat down at his desk. There was one other reason he came in to work, actually- he liked nothing more than to work at the daily crossword in the _Central Times,_ and sip the wonderful tea that his secretary provided.

Only today, there was a problem.

"Have either of you boys seen my gold filigree pen?" Bradley asked.

Mustang and Hughes both looked up. "Nope," Maes replied, "But you might want to check your office."

"Yeah," said Mustang, "I don't think that your gold pen would be here in the rec room."

"I hate to break it to you boys," Bradley chuckled softly, "But this _is_ my office."

Mustang and Hughes looked about in confusion. "No," Roy said evenly, "this is the rec room."

"I assure you, it's my office."

Hughes looked around. "No, it's definitely the rec room. There's the air hockey table, the ping-pong table, the foosball table, the pool table, the card table, and that big table that you do all those crossword puzzles on."

"That would be my desk," the Fuhrer explained.

"Oh." Mustang shuffled around awkwardly for a moment. "I'm going to play Ping-Pong now."

The Fuhrer returned to his desk and began digging around through his drawers. "Well, that's all well and good, but I still can't find my pen."

"Use mine," Hughes said, reaching into his pocket. He fished around in there for a while and his face fell. "Ah. Hm. Uh-oh."

* * *

The door slammed open, and the Fullmetal Alchemist stepped inside. His brother Alphonse followed him, taking out a large chunk of the doorjamb in the process.

"Why, hello Edward," Hawkeye greeted him. "I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that the Colonel is out at the moment. He should be back-"

"I'm not here to see Colonel Asshole."

Hawkeye ignored the demeaning nickname. "Oh. I'm sorry. Then what are you doing here? If I may ask, sir." Despite Edward Elric being a good fifteen years younger than she was, as a State Alchemist, he still outranked her.

"I'm here to file an official report of criminal activities, and a suspect identification form."

"What happened, kid?" Falman inquired.

"Well, Al and I were on our way to the library to conduct some research on possible whereabouts of existing philosopher's stones. Suddenly, we got attacked by this fat guy, along with a cross-dresser and a hooker. So I need to file a report on the incident. I'll be in my office."

He stepped through a door that nobody had ever really noticed before.

"I didn't know Ed had an office," said Havoc.

"Well," said Alphonse. "Brother is a State Alchemist. So I guess it makes sense that he would have an official workspace, even if he never uses it."

Breda pointed to the room that Ed had disappeared into. "Yeah. But is that it? Colonel Mustang always told me that room was his own personal supply closet."

The soldiers- and the suit of armor that constituted Alphonse's current body- stared at the door for a few silent moments. Then it opened, revealing a surprisingly calm Edward.

"Why," he said, "is there roughly two and a half tons of meticulously organized pornography in my office?" As if to demonstrate, he held up a box of magazines with a note attached- _Vol. 567._ _Threesomes through Titfucking_.

"See, I told you it was the Colonel's supply closet."

Havoc pushed past Edward. "Oh, this is impressive. They're even alphabetized. Here's Volume 42- _Anal through Asphyxiation_. And Volume 124- _Elric through Extra-Large._ Oh, hey, Ed, your mom's in this one."

"What!?" He snapped. "Gimme that!" Ed snatched the magazine, took one look at its cover, and then thrust it back into Havoc's hands. "Oh God, no, take it away!" he then realized that he had just given the magazine to Jean Havoc. "No, wait, give it back!"

He took the entire box, clapped his hands together once, and set the magazines on fire.

"Brother," Al asked innocently, "I don't understand. What were those magazines? And why does Colonel Mustang have so many?"

There was a very long and very painful silence.

"Um… Al… you see…" Hawkeye spluttered. "When a man and a woman love each other very much-"

"Or two men," Fuery added.

"Or two or more women," Havoc chuckled.

"Or a man and a sheep," Breda interjected.

"Or a man, a woman, a horse, a large jar of machine oil, a tomato plant, a vat of whipped cream, an inflatable doll, the milkman, the cheese lady, and the next door neighbors," Falman said.

Everybody in the room turned to look at Falman.

"What?"

Ed quickly turned to face his younger brother. "Al. They were secrets. Dark secrets, involving… um… Alchemy… and… human transmutation…"

"Wait," said Al, "Do you mean that Colonel Mustang was trying to create human life?"

Everybody in the room exchange hesitant glances and shrugged.

"Sure," said Hawkeye.

"That works," said Breda.

"Yes, Alphonse," Edward nodded. "Mustang was trying to create human life through alchemy. And that is why I have to go and kill him now."

"Oh, okay then," Alphonse nodded back as Ed stormed out of the room. "Hey, wait a minute- kill him- Ed, wait!"

* * *

Ed stormed through the halls of Central Headquarters stopping when he finally caught a glimpse of the hated Flame Alchemist. He and Maes Hughes were affizing what appeared to be an enormous bulletin board to one of the walls, while the Furher and his secretary supervised.

"Bring your side up a little," Mustang said.

"You BASTARD!" Ed screamed.

"Hi, Ed."

The Fullmetal Alchemist swung into action, bringing his hands together and transmuting his automail arm into a deadly blade. He leapt gracefully through the air, raising his artificial arm above his head and bringing it down in a deadly arc designed to sweep Mustangs head from his shoulders.

Or it would have, had the Fuhrer not casually reached out and held him back by the collar of his coat.

"You asshole!" he yelled. "My mother- how could you! You were keeping those pictures- oh _god,_ mom, why would you _do_ that!? I'll- kill- you- Mustang!" He continued to swear and threaten until the Fuhrer dumped him unceremoniously on the ground.

"Mr. Elric," said Bradley, "If you were to go around killing everybody who's seen your mother with her clothes off, there wouldn't be a State Military to arrest you for it. Now be quiet, there are worse problems afoot."

"Wait, what?" Ed protested. "What was that about my mom?"

"Trisha was _your_ mom?" Hughes asked. "Oh-ho-ho-hoooo boy…"

"Look, Fullmetal," Bradley continued, "If you have a reason to murder Mustang that doesn't have to do with things your mother may or may not but probably has done, then out with it!"

Behind the Fuhrer, Juliet Douglas giggled.

Ed spluttered for a moment. "But… My… what… what about my ball-clicker dealie!? Yeah, that's right, it's missing!"

Mustang raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Ball-clicker dealie, Fullmetal?"

The Fuhrer, however, was intrigued. "Wait a moment Mustang. Go on, Mr. Elric."

"You know those silver balls that hang on the ends of strings all in a row and you lift one up and it falls down and the one on the other end of the row bounces up, and it goes back and forth like that?"

"Oh, a ball-_click_er dealie," Hughes said in sudden undetstanding.

"Yeah. I had one on my desk, and now this bastard here stole it JUST SO HE COULD MAKE ROOM FOR HIS PORN!"

"Now why would I steal your ball-clicker dealie?" Mustang snorted, "I have one of my own. Standard-issue, State Military ball-clicker dealies."

"So… you didn't take it?"

"No."

The Fuhrer stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Hm. It appears that this problem is much more serious than I had thought. Follow me."

Edward Elric, Roy Mustang and Maes Hughes followed Bradley back into his office laden with novelties. He sat behind his desk, and pushed a button on the intercom.

"Everyone, get in here!"

Ed looked up, and everyone was in the Fuhrer's office.

The entire State Military, of course. But there was also Scar the wanted serial killer, that weird fat guy, that transvestite with green hair, and the prostitute in a black dress, Winry, Winry's grandma, Winry's dog, Ed and Al's estranged father Hohenheim, their teacher Izumi and her husband, a whole mess of homeless Ishbalans, that priest guy, the slutty cat burglar, that one chick who stole Ed's watch that time, Rose, Lyra, that _other_ crossdressing serial killer named Barry, Shou Tucker, that weird scary dog-thing that he made, Hughes' wife and daughter, those Chinese people from the comic version, Armstrong's badass sister- and Olivia, too- Greed and those chimeras from that bar, those miners, Zolf J. Kimblee the _other _other serial killer, L for some reason, and the guy who owns that restaurant in Liore whose radio Al fixed after he broke it by knocking it off the shelf and in doing so helpfully explained the basics of alchemy for any outside observer from another dimension who would have happened to be watching at that point..

The Fuhrer looked them all in the eye at the same time.

"Somebody has been stealing office supplies."

Everybody looked at the floor and tried to seem innocent.

"My gold filigree pen- gone. My gold stapler and staples- gone. My gold paper clips- all gone. EDWARD ELRIC'S EXECUTIVE BALL-CLICKER DEALIE! GONE! Will _somebody_ please tell me just how in the hell he is supposed to get any work done without his ball-clicker dealie!?"

Someone in the back raised their hand.

"Who is it?' The Fuhrer barked.

"It's Isaac the Ice Alchemist, sir. I was in that one episode of the new one- I froze my own blood and tried to stab you with it; remember?"

"Right, right- go on."

"Well, what if we all brought our own stuff from home?"

The Fuhrer was silent for a moment. Then he blew up. "Do you know what kind of a business I am trying to run here, Isaac? I'll give you a hint. It is not a nickel-and-dime little mom and pop stationary store. It is a _totalitarian fucking dictatorship!_ And what kind of goddamn sorry-ass dictatorship has its employees bring their shit from home? I AM TRYING TO RUN A CLASS FUCKING ACT HERE AND YOU ARE TELLING ME TO HAVE PEOPLE BRING SHIT FROM HOME!? Get out! Don't ever let me see your face again, _not even in fucking flashbacks about how fucking terrible the Ishbal war was and about how men become animals on the battlefield, no longer seeing human lives as objects of any worth, but only as things of inconsequential value, and how you were forced to kill innocent people for a concept as insubstantial as duty to your country, and also how one time you were forced to execute a small child after a long dramatic pause, signifying your complete descent into sin and final loss of innocence!_" He seethed for a moment. "Pussy."

Another hand went up.

"Who is it this time?"

It was Envy the green-haired transvestite… thing. "I have an idea. My friends and I are very talented at working behind the scenes. If you don't mind, we'd be happy to conduct an undercover investigation as to the culprit of this string of thefts."

"How very convenient and plot advancing," said the Fuhrer. "Okay. You may all leave. I am entrusting this investigation to the hands of this weird androgynous slut thing, this fat guy with Down's syndrome, and this hooker."

"Ed's mom?" asked Scar.

"No, no, the other hooker." The Fuhrer gestured to the woman in the black dress with the big tits.

"It's Lust," said the hooker. "And this here is Gluttony."

"Is it okay if I call you Tits?" asked the Fuhrer.

"No."

"Too bad, Tits."`

"What's that about my mom?" said Ed.

Nobody paid attention to him.

The fat guy had begun eating the pinball machine.

* * *

I stole the 'everybody get in here' joke from a cartoon I saw. That is all.


	2. The Adventure Continues

Don't expect any sort of regular update schedule for this thing. Also, I'm thinking I just may have to change the rating here to 'M,' because... this is really starting to get out of hand. Seriously, name a swear word. I guarantee it will be used here before this thing is over.

* * *

"So what's the deal with the big board?"

Ed and Al stared pensively at the enormous bulletin board that Mustang and Hughes had nailed to the wall earlier.

"It was Bradley's idea," said Hughes. "Supposedly it will revolutionize communication within the military."

Ed cocked his head to the side. "How?"

"Let me show you." Hughes took a strip of yellow paper from the pile of Post-Its next to the board and wrote on it with the pen that was chained to the wood. He then slapped the paper up near the top of the board, the adhesive on the back making it stick. "You see, I write my message on this paper and then 'post,' if you will, on the 'board.' Go on, read it."

Al leaned forward and read the message that Hughes had written.

- Hey you guys! I am making a post on the board. This is my post that you are reading right now this very second!-

Alphonse laughed, briefly. "Neat! How do I respond, Mr. Hughes?"

Hughes took another paper and handed it to Alphonse. "Just write your message and post it underneath mine, thereby creating a 'thread' of posts."

"Hm." Alphonse thought briefly. "I want to leave a message that will communicate that fact that I found your message slightly humorous and was inspired to laughter."

"Well," Ed suggested, "You could write, 'hey Mr. Hughes, that was funny. I laughed.'"

Hughes shrugged. "Eh. I think it's probably best to keep it short. Maybe just 'I laughed out loud.'"

Alphonse shook his armoured head. "No, I think something even shorter than that. Like a short form for laughter."

"Is there even a short form for laughter?" Ed asked. "I mean, how short can you really get?"

"Let's see…" Al mused, "I laughed… I laughed out loud… I know! I 'lol'd!'"

"Al, that's the stupidest thing I ever heard."

"Well, you're short so your opinion doesn't matter. Mr. Hughes?"

"I like it!"

"Then I will make the post!" Quickly, Alphonse scrawled the letters 'lol' on the paper and stuck it just beneath Hughes' message. "Done!"

"Let's go play air hockey!" Hughes said.

"Okay!"

As Alphonse and Hughes ran off to the Fuhrer's office, Ed couldn't help but stare up at the 'lol' that Al had posted. For some reason, deep in his gut, he couldn't shake the feeling that something horrible had just begun.

* * *

Mustang stepped into his office, and then immediately stepped out of it.

"Hawkeye," he ordered, "When is my birthday?"

Lieutenant Hawkeye sighed and glanced at the calendar at her desk. "It isn't for another three months, sir."

Mustang nodded. "As I thought. Then can somebody please tell me why there is a prostitute in my office?"

Hawkeye gave a sigh of exasperation. "Sir, please be serious and get some work done for a change."

"No, really! Go look!"

Hawkeye sighed again, through clenched teeth. She got up out of her chair, walked briskly over to Mustang's office door, and opened it.

There was a dark-haired woman dressed in a revealing black dress sitting on his desk. "Hello," she said. "I'm here to-"

Hawkeye slammed the door and double-checked the calendar. Not only was Mustang's birthday not for another three months, but there were no holidays on the immediate horizon or in the recent past. She simply couldn't think of a reason for the whore to be there.

"Maybe it's a thank-you whore," Havoc supplied helpfully. "Have you done anything thanks-worthy in the past week or so?"

"Was there a message written on her tits?" Breda asked. "That could be an important clue."

Mustang opened the door again.

"Why if it isn't the Flame Alchemist," the whore said. "If you don't mind, I- hey. Let go of those. Wait, I need to-"

He closed the door behind him. "Nope. Nothing."

Fuery raised his hand. "What, if anything, is she wearing? A theme outfit might help us out here."

"That's right," Falman said. "It could be holiday related. If she's got on a slutty Santa outfit, or a slutty bunny outfit, or a slutty leprechaun outfit, or a slutty witch outfit, or a slutty Martin Luther King outfit-"

Mustang peeked inside his office.

"Look, can you just listen for thirty sec-"

"I suppose it could be a slutty witch," he said, "at a stretch."

"Just face it colonel," Havoc shrugged, "There is no plausible reason for that prostitute to be in your office."

The Colonel nodded thoughtfully. His eyes narrowed. "And I am a high-ranking government official. This is extremely suspicious. I have my enemies- this could be an assassination attempt. That whore could be rigged with explosives. Hawkeye, call the Fuhrer."

"Yes, sir." She picked up the phone and dialled the Fuhrer's office extension. His secretary picked up.

"Hello, how may I help you?"

"This is Lieutenant Hawkeye, speaking on behalf of Colonel Mustang. A very suspicious prostitute was left inside Colonel Mustang's office this morning, and we strongly suspect that it's been rigged to explode. Could you send someone down to investigate as soon as possible?"

"Certainly."

Hawkeye hung up the phone. A few seconds later, there was a knock at the window.

Riza lifted up the sash, and the Fuhrer climbed inside, followed by Zolf J. Kimblee. She looked outside. It was three stories to the ground.

"Hello Colonel Mustang, Lieutenant Hawkeye, assorted filler characters. I was hanging outside the window and I couldn't help but overhear that you had a possible bomb threat in your office. I thought I'd offer my assistance, along with that of the resident explosives expert, Mr. Kimblee."

"But wait," said Mustang. "Kimblee is an expert at making things blow up. What we want to do here is make sure that the whore doesn't blow up."

Kimblee laughed. "Think about this logically for a minute, Roy. That hooker is going to explode sooner or later. It's simply a matter of time. So, that being the case, the best thing that we can do is to explode it under controlled circumstances, inside your office. That way, everything remains under our control."

"That is the most sense that anybody has ever made ever." Breda was clearly awed.

"Oh, one more thing," the Crimson Alchemist said, "Before I go in there to detonate that whore, you want to make sure you can get an appointment with these guys beforehand. It is vitally important, trust me." He handed Hawkeye a business card, and she looked down at it. It was for a carpet-cleaning company.

"Now let's not be too hasty," the Fuhrer cautioned, hand closing around the door handle. "First we need to make sure we're not going to be wasting a perfectly good hooker by mistake. Let's take a look just to make sure."

He eased the door open, and everybody looked inside with baited breath.

Lust was tapping her foot on the floor impatiently. "Are you boys quite finished with your little games?" she said. "I need some answers from Mr. Flame over there."

"False alarm, everybody," the Fuhrer waved. "It's only Tits."

"I'll say," said Kimblee.

He laughed politely. "Don't worry, it was me that hired her. I believe that her special talents could be of use to us."

"I'll say," said Kimblee.

"Now, now. Tits is extraordinarily gifted, you know."

"I'll say," said Kimblee.

There was a sudden flash, and a slithery liquid noise from behind them, as if a bottle of light was being poured onto the floor. Everybody turned to see that Second Lieutenant Breda had been transformed into a transvestite.

"Hi," Envy smiled. "I think I'd better explain."

"I think you'd better," Mustang replied.

"Lust and I were placed undercover in Mustang's office so that we could try and root out exactly who has been stealing office supplies. She attempted to infiltrate using the disguise of a prostitute sent to Colonel Mustang, while I masqueraded as Heymans Breda."

"But if you were only pretending to be Breda, then where is the real Breda?" asked Hawkeye.

"I gave him the day off," the Fuhrer said.

* * *

The soldiers chasing him never thought to look up. Scar stayed perfectly silent, observing from his perch high in the tree branches until his pursuers ran off, seeking the wanted serial killer elsewhere.

With predatory grace, he leapt to the ground, barely making a sound as he landed. He had fled into Central Park to evade his attackers, and he now retraced his steps out of the lush greenery that stood out so much against the industrial backdrop of the city.

It was as he passed the children's playground that he noticed something odd- a flash of blue peeking out from the sand. He had run by too quickly to notice it the first time through, and likely would have kept on walking had that blue not been so familiar.

It was the blue of a military uniform.

Scar strode over and brushed the sand off of it, revealing more and more cloth and, eventually, a human hand. Somebody had haphazardly buried a murdered soldier between the swing set and the jungle gym.

Scar double checked to make sure nobody was looking, and then swiped the dead man's watch from his hand. He left the park, and the lifeless arm jutting out of the playground sand, and disappeared into the maze of buildings that was Central city.

The dead soldier's arm would stay there, reaching uselessly toward the sky, until Elysia Hughes was permanently traumatized by it three days later.

* * *

"Anyways, enough about Breda," Envy hissed, "And on to the real issue. This theft of office supplies is only getting worse. Why, in the past five minutes, the coffee mug on Mustang's desk has been lifted."

"The one that says 'total flamer?'" Havoc said. "Aw, I gave that to the Colonel for his birthday!"

"Nobody is free of suspicion," Lust said sinuously. "At least not until I've asked them a few questions. Starting with the Flame Alchemist."

"Mustang faced her calmly, although there was a hint of nervousness in his eyes.

"Have you been stealing shit?" Lust asked.

"No."

"Do you know who has been stealing shit?"

"No."

"Damn. We're fresh out of leads. Envy, Gluttony, let's go. We're done here."

Lust swept out of the room, followed by the green-haired Envy and the magnificently gargantuan fatass Gluttony who had been standing in the corner of the room facing the wall, dressed in what appeared to be three military uniforms duct taped together. Nobody had really noticed him until now, despite the fact that he occupied at least a quarter of the room.

"Bye, Tits."

* * *

"Al, did you post this?"

"Yes, brother, I did. Why? What's the matter with it?"

Ed was looking at the enormous bulletin board again, already filled with posts. He was pointing at a particular photograph of a kitten that was missing a leg. The caption underneath the photograph read, in block capitals, I CAN HAS FILOSOFERS STON?

"What's the matter with it? It's idiotic, that's the matter with it. What's the deal with the messed up spelling, anyways?"

"I think it's funny," Al said. "Look, other people like it."

There were numerous posts underneath the picture Al had put up, which Edward supposed constituted a thread.

- lol-

- omg, wtf? dis is hilariouos.-

- HAHAHA LOL!!!!1!!11 I LUV CATS THIS IS TEH FUNNYEST THING EVAR FAV +1-

- u r a fag-

- haha omg no ur a fag for callin him a fag becuz only fags call ppl fags u fag so u r therfore a huge faggit who sux cock all day n likes cocks up ur a$$-

- i came-

- its spelled 'philosofers,' u idiot-

- lol epic fail-

- nigger nigger nigger nigger nigger nigger nigger-

- pools closed motherfucker-

The last post was a picture of breasts. The face of the girl was blurred out, but as Ed looked at it, something unsettled him.

"Wait a minute… look at this house in the background of this picture… I recognize this house… this is…"

It had been Ed and Al's old home in Resembool, before they had burned it down. He was sure of it. What's more, the more that he looked at the picture, the more he thought he could recognize the blurry hairstyle that the woman in it had- it was a short plait that fell over her shoulder. He had only ever seen one person with that hairstyle, and that had been-

He crumpled up the paper, threw it to the floor and crushed it underneath his automail leg. Then he clapped his hands and burned it.

"Let's go Al."

"But why, Brother? I wanted to post some more!"

"…I want a drink from the vending machine. Come with me for a second."

"Okay, but hang on. I want to say that I made the original post, but not in so many words… hm… I'm the original poster… Oh! I got it!" Al scribbled something onto the paper and posted it. It read:

- OP here. Lol, thanx guys-

And then he turned and followed Ed down the hallway.

The Fullmetal Alchemist was standing in front of a Transmut-Ade™ machine, clinking his loose change in his hand.

He turned directly to face you, the reader. "Hey. I'm Edward Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist. When my alchemic energy is depleted after a long day of transmutation, I recharge with Transmut-Ade™- the official alchemy drink of the philosopher's stone."

"What was that about, brother?"

"What was what about? Nevermind, which flavour should I get?" His finger hovered over the buttons on the side of the machine. "There's Homunculus Orange, Transmutation Circle Blue, Human Sacrifice Red, and Grape."

"Gee, brother, I don't know," Al said innocently. "I've lost all concept of taste while my soul has been trapped in this inanimate prison. I can't feel anything, Brother, except for the biting cold of the metal. I'm cold all the time, and it hurts. I can barely stand to live, but only because I cannot die. My soul longs for the oblivion of death, but the universe has seen fit to play a cosmic joke on me and doom me to an eternity in this frigid shell of a body, barely able to consider myself a human being- unable to eat, unable to breathe, unable to sleep, I carry on in an endless-"

"I'm gonna get grape flavour!" said Ed.

"… sounds delicious, Brother." Al tried to weep but found that he could not.

Edward happily slid a twenty-five-sen coin into the machine, pressed the button, and stepped back in anticipation of imminent refreshment. The machine clunked ponderously, something ground inside of it, and there was a noise like a car backfiring.

He continued to stand there. The vending machine had not made any noise, nor dispensed any drinks, for the past ten minutes. "Where's my drink?" he asked.

"Brother, I think it might be broken."

Ed's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I don't understand. I put my money in. I pressed the button. But my drink was not dispensed."

"Maybe it's out of order?"

Ed clapped his hands and slapped them against the machine. There was a flash of blue light, and the insides of the device sprang to life momentarily. A whirring noise came from inside it, and then a series of very loud clunks. There was a hissing sound, and then smoke started coming out of the back of the thing.

"No. no, no, no, DAMMIT! It wasn't supposed to be this way!" Ed cried in despair, his eyes clenched shut. "It wasn't supposed to turn out like this! It was perfect! It should have worked! IT WAS SUPPOSED TO WORK!"

Al prodded him in the shoulder. "Um… Brother? Are you okay?"

Ed clapped again and tried to alchemy the machine into working. It didn't work. "I don't understand. I paid the price, Al! So why isn't it working!? This goes directly against everything I've ever been taught… equivalent exchange… was it all a lie?"

Ed screamed in despair. "Damn it! I PAID THE PRICE! I WANT MY TRANSMUT-ADE™! Equivalent exchange- this is ignoring all the principles of the universe's fundamental law. And it's up to us to make it right."

"W-what are you going to do, Brother?"

"Al," Ed said dramatically, "Make sure nobody's looking!"

And with that he jammed his automail arm into the little slot that the drinks came out of and reached up into the vending machine. He felt around for the bottle of grape-flavoured alchemy drink, until he remembered that his arm was made of metal and had no feeling.

"Damn," he said, "I don't know if I have it or not." He flexed his artificial fingers and felt pressure, meaning that he had at least got hold of something. "Okay, I think I have the drink. Keep watching, Al, I'm going to try and pull it out."

He put both of his feet against the machine and pulled with all of his might. It was at that point that several things happened at once.

Something gave deep inside the bowels of the vending machine, and Ed withdrew both his arm and the bottle of Grape Transmut-Ade™ that was clenched in his metal hand. At the same time a loud siren sounded from inside the machine, and something blew up, spraying a bright purple dye all over Edward.

"Uh-oh," he said, his voice drowned out by the shrieking of the siren.

There was the sound of many clattering footsteps, and suddenly everybody was standing in the hallway, forming a ring around Alphonse and Edward.

"What's going on?" Hughes shouted.

"Somebody killed the Transmut-Ade™ machine! Oh my God, it's bleeding purple blood everywhere!" Winry looked away in horror.

"It's screaming in pain," Scar said, referring to the siren. "It must be put out of its misery. Can't you see it wants to die?" He stepped forward and laid his tattooed arm over the machine. He whispered a short prayer, and the vending machine exploded violently, showering the crowded hallway with a refreshing rain of various flavours of alchemy drink, as well as flaming wreckage.

"Who could have committed such an atrocity?" Armstrong was distraught.

"Look!" Envy pointed. "It's the Fullmetal pipsqueak! And look what he's holding in his hand!"

Ed looked down at his right hand, which was still clutching the bottle of Transmut-Ade™ that he had wrenched from the vending machine, mortally wounding it in the process.

Everybody gasped.

"So it was Fullmetal all along!" Roy nodded like he had known it the whole time.

"I never would have guessed." Doctor Marcoh shook his head in disappointment.

The Fuhrer stepped forward out of the mob, frowning down at Edward. "So," he said, "It seems like we've found our thief."

* * *

Holy Christ, I'm immature. I could be writing actual things and making money, and yet I choose to waste an hour and a half writing about hookers blowing up. Got a serious case of the giggles while I was doing it, too, which probably says something about my mental state. Something bad.

So it seems to me that the new TV show is really quicktiming it through the bits of story that the first series covered. The whole mom-died to the becoming-a-state-alchemist thing was covered in one episode, and the old TV show managed to stretch it out to like five or six.

Anyways, when I say everybody, I mean _everybody_. In that last scene, every single character that has ever appeared in the cartoon or the comic is present.


	3. Your OC is Bad And You Should Feel Bad

This is an M-rated story now. Oh yeah. For sure. There is no going back. Why am I compelled to take Hiromu Arakawa's wonderfully imagined universe and vividly defined characters and do..._ this?_ And so without further ado, we continue with The Most Hideous Thing I Have Ever Written.

* * *

"One… two… three… four… five… six… sev- Oh shits." Hughes' hand, still holding the tiny metal top hat, hovered over the space with 'CENTRAL HEADQUARTERS' printed on it in block capitals. "I didn't put the piece down. It doesn't count."

"Suck it, bitch," Mustang crowed triumphantly. "Suck it long. And suck it hard. Central Headquarters, _with_ a hotel on it. Pay up."

"I refuse to," said Hughes.

"Well then, Hughes, that raises a certain question…" Mustang withdrew a plain manila envelope from inside his military jacket and passed it across the table to Hughes. "Do you ever want to see your daughter again?"

Hughes opened the envelope and turned it upside down. At first, nothing came out, but when he jostled it something small and pink and covered in blood plopped out onto the table. A tiny finger. A child's finger.

"You monster." Hughes whispered hoarsely. "If you hurt her, I swear to God…"

It was at this point that Mustang became unable to keep a straight face, and burst out laughing. "Holy shit, Hughes, you should have seen your face…! That was priceless!"

Hughes, realizing it had been a joke, laughed too, but a bit more cautiously. "You got me. That finger looks real." He prodded it. "Hey, wait a minute. It is real!"

Roy was overcome again. "Of course, otherwise it wouldn't be funny! Aw, this is the best part: I told one of those starving homeless Ishbalan kids down by the docks that I'd give him a sandwich if he cut off his pinky, and he fuckin did it!"

"Did you give him the sandwich?"

"Ate that foot-long hoagie right there in front of him. Every last bite."

Now the both of them were laughing uncontrollably. "Oh, that is jokes, Roy. Jokes."

"So jokes."

They were interrupted by the burnished double doors opening and the Fuhrer stepping into the room, followed by his secretary.

"Well, what game are you boys playing now?"

"Risk," answered Hughes and Mustang.

The Fuhrer was able to see from where he was standing that Hughes and Mustang were using a 20-sided die to play with chess pieces and Monopoly money on a Risk game board. There were also marbles, trading cards, and the silver pieces from Monopoly somehow in place.

"Well, have fun then."

The two continued to play, cursing eloquently, while the Fuhrer sat down at his desk with the daily paper. He opened the drawers and rustled through them. Or at least tried to, because there was nothing to rustle through.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, Miss Douglas. Did I not have Edward Elric arrested, jailed, and executed in a humorous fashion for the theft of State Military-issue office supplies?"

"You did, sir."

"Well then where is all my shit?"

"It's gone, sir."

"I can see that! What I mean is, I had the culprit arrested. So why is stuff still missing?"

"It is possible that the late Mr. Elric was not, in fact, the thief after all."

The Fuhrer stroked his chin. "Hmm. It is possible that I have made a mistake. Except that I'm the Fuhrer, and I don't make any."

It was at just this moment that Riza Hawkeye burst into the room with a sheaf of papers. "Fuhrer," she gasped, "I think that you may have made a terrible mistake!"

"No, I didn't."

"But… Sir!" Hawkeye handed him the papers. "The thefts haven't stopped! Here is a list of everything that's been stolen since you arrested Edward Elric. It proves he's not the culprit!"

The Fuhrer examined the stack very carefully, and then raised it to his mouth and took a big bite out of it. Almost immediately, he spit out the fluttering remnant of the files. "Miss Hawkeye! This sandwich is terrible!"

She blinked. "Um. Sir. That's… not a sandwich. It's the records of office supplies that have gone missing since-"

Riza was cut off by the Fuhrer standing up, striding purposefully around his desk, and grabbing her boobs.

"Miss Hawkeye," he said menacingly. "What are these?" He jiggled them a little bit.

Simultaneously flustered and enraged, she could only sputter uselessly.

"What are these?" the Fuhrer repeated. "Tell me!"

"S-sir! What- what are..? Those- th-that- they… m-my breasts, sir! And regardless of your rank, it is highly inappropriate-"

Apparently, the Fuhrer didn't give a damn about what was and wasn't highly inappropriate, because he let go of her breasts and then jammed his hand neatly between her thighs, feeling around in there real proper-like.

"No balls," he said.

On reflex, Hawkeye had drawn her handgun and came within seconds of murdering the Fuhrer President of the State of Amestris, but she never got the chance because he drew his military sabre with his free hand and sliced her gun into three neat pieces, which crumbled to the ground.

He withdrew his hand. "Hughes."

Maes Hughes snapped to attention. "Sir! Yes, sir!" His respectful salute was somewhat tarnished by the fact that he was still holding Uno cards in his hand.

"I have personally verified that Riza Hawkeye is currently in possession of a pair of titties, and also seems to be lacking a penis and testes. As a valued member of my investigations department, I would like your opinion on what exactly this means."

"Sir! All evidence suggests that Riza Hawkeye is in fact a woman, sir!"

"I suspected as much." He retreated back behind his desk and sat down again, leaning forward and entwining his fingers together. "Miss Hawkeye, what exactly is the meaning of this?"

Hawkeye didn't know how much more she could take. In the past five minutes, she had been spat at, groped, and subject to the most confusing set of questioning she had ever experienced. Not to mention that her favourite Smith & Wesson was now reduced to scrap metal on the floor (its name had been Roger). "S-sir?"

"Allow me to redefine your role in our organization. As a woman, you are expected to supply the actual contributing members of this military, the men, with delicious sandwiches. This-" He rapped the chewed-up pile of papers with his fist- "Is not a sandwich. It is a disgrace. And so are you."

Hawkeye looked incredulously back and forth between the perfectly serious Fuhrer, the stoic Juliet Douglas, and the impassive Hughes and Mustang. "Sir! That is serious evidence of a security breach and false imprisonment of-"

"Miss Hawkeye! As Fuhrer President, and as a rational, intelligent, and responsible owner of a penis I think that it is quite obvious that I am right and you are wrong."

She was literally beyond words with rage.

"Now then, Miss Hawkeye, I have a new, high-priority assignment for you. You are to conduct reconnaissance duty in the cafeteria, and bring each of Lieutenant Colonel Hughes, Colonel Mustang, and myself a BLT. Dismissed."

But Hawkeye did not move. She could only stand there in outraged silence.

There was a sudden noise. She turned to find that it was Colonel Mustang, who had risen to his feet and was clapping enthusiastically. His eyes shone. He was crying.

This goaded her into speech. "Now listen here! I don't care if you are the Fuhrer President, I am just as capable as every other member of this military and will not be discriminated against in what is, frankly, a shallow and sexist way of perceiving-"

Presently, Fuhrer Bradley went to his stereo system and proceeded to just crank Frederic Chopin like real fucking loud.

Hawkeye shouted to make herself heard over the din. "…Members of the opposite sex! As an employee of a progressive organization, I feel that this is exclusive behaviour and constitutes discrimination in the workplace!"

The Fuhrer started to sing along with the song, which was really impressive considering it was a piano etude.

"DUN… DUN…" he sang, "DUN DA DUN… DUN DUN DA DUN…"

Riza Hawkeye's mouth was moving but no sound was coming out.

"DUN DEE DUN DUNNN… DUN DEEDUMDUM… DUM…"

She gave up and stormed out of the room seething.

"THIS IS FUCKING MUSIC!" Bradley bellowed after her, "YEAH! GET YOUR VAGINA AND GET OUT!"

* * *

Sometime later, Alphonse Elric went to check up on the big board. It had been a huge hit, with almost every member of the state military posting regularly. He looked at the top, where the biggest thread of the day had started.

- Hey there guys. Girl soldier here. Earlier today, I was involved in an incident with several other male soldiers (I will not name names) who acted as though I was an inferior member of the organization just because I am a girl. I was offended and appalled at their actions, but rather than give in to my anger and cuss them out, I decided to make my first-ever post on the board and hopefully start an intellectual discussion on the matter. Thoughts?-

The first post underneath was, 'omg its that time of the month O.o' It only got worse from there:

- lol prove ur a gurl. Show ur tits -

- Gb2 kitchen –

- tits or gtfo –

- Post tits. -

- whar my sammy at bitchhhh??? Girls r good for two thing, food n sex just ask the only 1 of u who was evr any use, trisha elric.. she was good at both. –

- Hey, OP, do you know what these notes are written on? I'll give you a hint: Post-its. –

- LOLOLOL I don get it –

- say it out loud –

- ohh shittt wtfffff!!!!! XD im trippin balls! -

- Moar! –

- omg you guys got fucken trolled –

- OP has a PENIS. There are no girls on the board. –

And it went on from there. Al mused this thread over very carefully. The original poster had asked for an intelligent rational discussion, but it seemed that the replies all indicated either disbelief or were requests to see her breasts, ostensibly to prove she was female. What other reason would they have for wanting to see them?

_Hm,_ Alphonse thought. _It seems that I should reply with something that indicates a desire for the intelligent conversation the original poster asked for, but should also indicate that the posters are unlikely to provide that help without some proof that she is in fact female, which would need to be supplied in visual form. Of course, it is necessary that this reply be as succinct as possible_.

Mustering his loquaciousness, Alphonse wrote his response and posted it, quite content with himself.

1. Ask Question. 2. Post Tits/Vagoo. 3. ????? 4. PROFIT! –

* * *

Ed woke up somewhere deep underground. He was in a dank cell, lying on the hard stone floor. "Ugh… where am I…?"

"Laboratory Five."

Ed looked up and Kain Fuery was standing there, next to an oddly familiar hooker and an unbelievably fat man who appeared to be brain-dead. Behind the three of them was a simple TV/VCR setup on one of those wheeled cart dealies.

"Fuery?" Ed asked. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, I had to look like a member of the military if I wanted to get down to the holding cells, where they were keeping you," he said. "Congratulations, Fullmetal. According to the military records, you were executed in a humorous fashion two days ago. You're officially dead."

Edward certainly didn't feel dead. But he was under Lab Five, which he recalled was a depository for supposedly-executed criminals who were used in illegal human experimentation. "Wait. Am I going to be turned into a chimera?"

"No," Lust said salaciously, "You're far too valuable a resource to be wasted like that."

"So then- wait, 'executed in a humorous fashion?' What does that mean? How did they say I died?"

"Decapitation by cockslap," she said.

Ed groaned. "Couldn't they have said I was crushed underneath a pile of naked women?"

"Yes," said Lust. "Yes, they could have said that very easily."

Ed groaned again, and turned to the Fuery-lookalike. "So if you're not actually Fuery, I'm guessing you must be Envy under there. Where's the real Kain Fuery?"

With a sizzle of light, Fuery transformed into the green-haired homunculus. "Oh, I made sure he was safely out of the way."

* * *

Checking twice to make sure nobody was looking, Scar darted across the street and into the alleyway. There was a dumpster next to the kindergarten, and he knew those spoiled Central kids never finished their lunches, which meant good eating.

He had found a rotten banana, a Cheestring, and half a Fruit Roll-Up before he spotted it.

That familiar blue.

Shifting the piles of trash around, he soon uncovered the corpse and hefted it out of the dumpster. Another murdered soldier. Clearly there was some sort of conspiracy that someone wanted to stay hidden beneath the bureaucracy that was the State Military.

Double-checking yet again, Scar slipped the dead man's wallet out of his pocket. Ignoring the ID inside- apparently the man was KAIN FUERY- he removed the sheaf of bills and stowed it safely within his own pockets.

He left the decaying body lying there next to the kindergarten, where it stayed until Elicia Hughes was permanently traumatized by it the next day at recess.

* * *

"So what do you bastards want?" Ed said.

"As much as it pains me to say it, your help." Envy shrugged as if to say '_what do you want me to do?_' "We have no leads whatsoever on the office supply thief, and people's stuff is still being taken. You're the Fullmetal Alchemist. A living legend. The Fuhrer ordered us to fake your death so you could work undercover. So, will you catch the thief?"

Ed thought it over for a while, then flipped them the bird and rolled over so he was facing away from them. "What do I care? I'm dead."

"Come on, Ed!" Lust extended her fingernails so they were ten feet long and poked him in the ass. "The thief is jacking people's shit. Shit is being jacked. Come on. Ed. Ed. Ed!"

"I'm dead!" He insisted. "Cock took my head clean off. Remember?"

"Now you listen here, Fullmetal!" Envy was shouting now. "DO YOU WANT PEOPLE COMING UP IN YOUR HOUSE AND JACKING YOUR SHIT? DO YOU!? CAUSE THERE ARE SHIT-JACKERS OUT THERE, ED, AND THEY'RE JACKING SHIT! THEY ARE JACKING YOUR SHIT AS! WE! SPEAK! ARE YOU GONNA STAND FOR THAT KIND OF SHIT-JACKING SHIT?"

"Whose cock did they say it was?"

Envy and Lust looked at each other hesitantly. "Armstrong's."

"Fuck you."

"Have it your way, Fullmetal. I didn't want to have to do this."

Ed didn't look, but there was the sound of a tape being slid into the VCR and the whine of electrical feedback as the television was turned on. Although he couldn't see the picture, he could still hear the voices, and the sultry jazz soundtrack.

"Oh, yeah. Use your tongue, baby. Yeah. Yeah, gag on it. Oh." This voice sounded uncannily like Roy Mustang's. "Oh, work it just like that. Mm."

"Yeah, go on, fill me up with that thing. Yeah come on. Harder. Harder. Harder!" What chilled Ed to the bone was that this woman's voice was unmistakeably one he recognized from his childhood.

The third voice was Maes Hughes. "Oh, you like that? Yeah, I bet you do. You like it rough, don't'cha? Well H-Daddy can do rough, oh yes he can."

Ignoring his mind screaming at him, _Oh God Don't Look_, Ed turned his head just enough to see the TV screen and verify that the three voices did in fact belong to Roy Mustang, Maes Hughes, and his mother.

"Aaaaaaauuuuuaaaaaaooaaaaaauauauagggghhhh!"

This was a cry of anguish so deep and distraught that even the soulless homunculi cringed as if it was nails on a blackboard.

"TURN IT OFF TURN IT OFF TURN IT OFF! I'LL DO WHATEVER YOU SAY JUST TURN IT OFF!"

Envy flicked the power switch and the light and noise ceased. When Edward's wracking sobs had abated enough that he felt the young alchemist could hear him, he continued. "Okay, Ed. Let's come up with our plan."

"I think I might have diabetes," said Gluttony to nobody in particular.

* * *

I would just like to say that over-the-top-asshole Fuhrer is a part of my personal canon.

So yeah. They say that you can tell a lot about someone from what they write, and I think it's pretty evident here that I am an awful, awful human being. This is a monstrosity that should never have seen the light of day.

IF YOU LIKE IT ENOUGH TO FAVORITE ODDS ARE YOU LIKE IT ENOUGH TO REVIEW. Although _why_ you would like it in the first place, I have no idea...


	4. Angst Angst Angst Angst

THIS WILL NOT GET BETTER. IT IS ONLY DOWNHILL FROM HERE. YOU WILL ALL SOON FIND OUT JUST HOW VERY DOWN THAT HILL GOES.

At the end of this story I am considering making a list of all the individuals, groups, and ideals that this story offends for the sake of cheap laughs. This list will be four chapters long.

Also, after episode 20, I am beginning to really like Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, and feel really bad for destroying it with my Internet abominations.

* * *

"Okay, here's the plan."

Edward Elric was currently hiding with Lust and Envy outside Central Headquarters, by the parking lot, and Envy was explaining his plan for rooting out the office-supply thief. The three of them were hiding behind Gluttony, who was trying his best to resemble a large boulder and succeeding magnificently.

"Now remember, time is of the essence, so there can be no wasting time interrupting me to talk about how good the plan is, how smart I am, or how particularly fine I am looking today."

Lust and Ed shot each other a look.

"So please restrain yourselves." When he had assured himself that neither Lust nor Ed were going to interrupt, he continued. "So the real thief currently believes that Edward Elric has been executed for the crimes he is committing. Which means that right now, he feels as though he can move about freely. Which means he is out in the open."

At the entrance to the parking lot, military personnel and assorted hangers-on were arriving for the day. Ed could see the carpool of Vato Falman, Roy Mustang, and Winry being driven in by Ling Yao.

"Another perk of this is that everybody believes that Ed is dead. Which means that you too can move about freely, in _disguise_."

"Wait, wait, wait," Ed interrupted. "Wait just a minute."

"I said no interrupting to talk about-"

"This has nothing to do with how good your plan is!"

"Well then may I just say that I am very flattered Edward, but I am on duty right now and it'll have to wait until we're off the clock."

"I am not hitting on you, you horrible man!" Edward burst out. "Or woman. Or…"

"Whatever?" Lust said.

"Whatever. What I'm saying is, if we need someone in disguise, then why can't you do it? You can disguise yourself as whoever you want, easy. Why do I need to do all the work?"

"There is a very simple answer for that. You need to do it because I have no clue what the fuck I am doing."

"Tell me about it." Ed and Lust said.

Ling Yao's carpool had passed through the guard booth, and proceeded to sail smoothly across the asphalt and, without even slowing down, plow straight into the back of what appeared to be a solid gold-plated-limousine-Model T Ford. Immediately, the other occupants of Ling's car began shouting at him.

"Shit!" Falman swore sagely.

"Good fucking job!" Mustang raved. "Fan. Fucking. Tastic. Whose bright idea was it to let Chairman Mao drive? This is wonderful."

"Didn't you _see_ it?" Winry bitched. "What the hell? How do you hit like the only other car in the whole parking lot?"

"Shit!" Falman cussed wisely.

"You fucking piece of human garbage!" Mustang continued to swear furiously, getting all up in Ling's face. "Way to reinforce a negative goddamn stereotype there, Ping-Pong! This aint a fuckin rickshaw you know, you got to hit the fuckin brakes every now and then!"

"I'm not paying for this," Winry continued. "This was your fault. I wanted to take the train today. I did. 'Nooooo Winry,' you said, 'I'll swing over there and pick you up, no problem.' Well it's a problem now!"

"Hey Tojo!" Mustang screamed, getting progressively louder as he began to really hit his stride and get into a groove. "Can you see through them slanty eyes of yours, or you just running on echolocation, like a bat? Well, echolocate this!" Mustang began screeching something high-pitched and barely intelligible directly into Ling's ear. "EEEEEEeeeeEEEEeeeee fuckyouLing EEEEEEeeeeeEEEEEEeeeeEEEEE youfuckingretard eeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAEEEEEAAAUUUUGHH!"

"Shit!" said Falman, in his infinite wisdom.

Ed did his best to ignore the fiasco, and turned to Envy. "Okay. So you're too incompetent, I can buy that. So then, what's my disguise? It'll need to be good, I'm kinda famous."

"Not a problem, not a problem," Envy said. With a flourish, he produced a plastic shopping back from Alchemist's Apparel™. With an equal flourish, he withdrew from it a cartoonishly large black top hat.

Ed blinked. "That's it? A hat?"

Envy slammed the hat onto Edward's head. "Oh, that's not all. You see, I picked up one other thing…"

The other thing turned out to be a black Sharpie, with which Lust drew a garish and overly twirly mustache and goatee onto Ed's face.

"You look unrecognizable!" Envy said proudly.

"I look like the bad guy from goddamn Rocky and Bullwinkle," Ed said sullenly.

"Shut up."

Meanwhile, the deluge of profanity from the parking lot ceased for one horrifying moment after the occupants of Ling's car discovered the licence plate on the gold-plated monstrosity.

DA FUHRER, the plates read. Upon closer discovery, the gold-plated-Model-T-limo looked like its owner had chosen the most obscene vehicle possible to convert into a limousine and had plated it gold. It very much made a statement, and that statement was, 'Hey. I am rich enough and important enough to afford to do this to an automobile. Fuck you.'

"This is the Fuhrer's car," Winry said in shock. "The _Fuhrer's_ car. _We hit the Fuhrer's car_."

"Fuck," Mustang said, eyes wide. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck. Fuck."

"Shit," Falman agreed. "Shit. Shit. Shit. Oh, shit."

"Fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck."

"Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit."

Winry joined in. "Oh cunt."

Ling said something in Chinese which, loosely translated, would have meant '_I do not understand what is happening._'

"Okay, okay, fine," Ed said, eager just to get away from the very creepy homunculi. "So I sneak around in there and see what I can see. What will you be doing?"

Lust sighed. "I'll be in the Fuhrer's office, bending over and picking up things he drops on the floor and climbing ladders to get things off shelves."

"I'll be masquerading as another soldier," said Envy, giving Ed a thumbs-up, "Just in case you need backup."

"I'll be eating," said Gluttony.

"Shut up," the other three responded immediately.

"Alright, let's get this over with." Ed donned the top hat. "Whatever they're paying us, it's not enough."

"Oh, they're not paying us," Envy clarified.

"What."

"They're not paying us."

"Okay. Okay." Ed took off the top hat and threw his arms in the air. "Done. This is too much."

"Wait, Ed." Lust grabbed his coat. "What Envy meant is they're not paying us in money."

Ed turned to look at Envy, who nodded. "The deal is that when we find the thief, we are each allowed to take one thing from all the stuff that's been stolen. We get first pick, before anybody gets any of it back."

Ed thought it over. "Which offices have been hit again?"

Envy counted off some of the key ones on his fingers. "Almost every single one. Yours. The Fuhrer's. Maes Hughes'. Alex and Olivia Armstrong's. Frank Archer's. And… Roy Mustang's."

He grinned in response. "Okay. I'm in."

While Ed made his fateful decision, the guilty four had piled back into Ling's car. "Nobody saw us." Winry repeated it like it was a mantra. "Nobody saw us. Nobody saw us. Nobody saw us."

"Go," said Mustang, shaking Ling's shoulder. "Go go go go go. Just let's get out of here, come back in two hours, say we were stuck in traffic the whole time. Everybody forgets about this, nobody gets their head clubbed off by a dick like Fullmetal."

"Nobody saw us. Nobody saw us. Nobody saw us."

"Come on," Mustang exhorted. "Go go go! If the Fuhrer finds out we totalled his car it is bad news. Bad News Bears. Get us the fuck out of here. Hurry, before anyone sees us. Go! Go! GO! And for God's sake _don't hit anyone else_!"

Ling said something in Chinese again. This translated to, _'I like rice.'_ He then proceeded to extricate his car from the mess that was the Fuhrer's (with a nasty _crunch_ sound), reverse out of the spot far too fast than was necessary, and T-bone Riza Hawkeye pulling into the lot.

Riza stayed stock-still behind the wheel, although a blood vessel burst in her left eye, turning it an unnerving and sinister-looking red.

"Shit," said Mustang.

"Shit," said Winry.

"Shit," said Ling, in English.

"Shit," said Falman, summarizing quite aptly.

* * *

Riza Hawkeye's day was not improved by the fact that, when she got inside, she discovered that she had been assigned possibly the most stressful job in the entire military.

"Miss Hawkeye," the Fuhrer said. "You have been given the responsibility of caretaker of the entire military's remaining office supplies. You will lend each one out individually, and keep track of who has what so that nothing more can be stolen. Naturally, these remaining few supplies are worth far, far more than your very life, so each must only be lent out in the direst of circumstances. I trust the decision making process to you."

The Fuhrer dumped one single cardboard box onto her desk, which had been moved into the hallway next to the noisy snack machine.

"In this box," he continued, "Is all we have left. I am trusting you, Miss Hawkeye, to not fuck this up."

He departed with great ceremony and decorum to the snack machine next to her desk, where he proceeded to count out his loose change.

"What sort of ass-backwards dictatorship is this when I can't even get a bag of corn chips? Miss Douglas, I wish for you to determine which of our personnel is currently in possession of a bag of Fritos. When you find them, confiscate the chips and have the soldier shot. That is all."

Thus commenced the worst day of Riza Hawkeye's life.

"I need a paper shredder," Hughes said.

"We don't have one," Hawkeye said primly. "They've all been stolen."

"You don't understand," Hughes said, "I _need_ one."

"We don't have any," she repeated. "They were all stolen. I have no paper shredder to give you."

"Yes," Hughes agreed. "But I really need a paper shredder."

"I don't have one."

"But I need one."

"Mr. Hughes. I do not have a paper shredder I can give you. All paper shredders in the possession of the State Military have been stolen, which means they are missing. Regardless of how much you may need a paper shredder, I cannot give one to you. I don't have one. I'm sorry."

"But I need a paper shredder."

"Use these!" she said, somewhat harshly.

"What are those?" Hughes asked.

"Scissors. It may take a bit longer, but you can get the job done."

"But those are safety scissors. For children."

Hawkeye resisted the urge to use Maes Hughes to find out just how unsafe the safety scissors could be when applied correctly. "These are the only scissors left. The rest have been stolen."

"But I need a paper shredder."

"Scissors cut paper just fine."

"Listen, I have a highly incriminating bag of Fritos that I _need_ to get rid of. I need a paper shredder."

Maes Hughes was only the beginning. A disgruntled Olivia Armstrong started cursing loudly and stabbing nearby people when Hawkeye had to explain that staples were one per person, and there was a week-long waiting list for a stapler.

May Chang wanted manila envelopes and Hawkeye had to explain that mail was now sent two per envelope, which meant that you put your mail in with somebody else's and hoped that the first recipient took his letter out and then mailed the second letter for you.

Jean Havoc wanted a cigarette lighter and Hawkeye had to explain that the military now kept an Everlasting Flame out back, with men on duty to keep it going by dismantling furniture and nearby orphanages.

Scar wanted a bag of Hickory Sticks and noisily broke into the snack machine complaining about the lack of Fritos and Hawkeye had to explain that he couldn't just keep showing up whenever he wanted because he was a wanted man, and just 'cause nobody gave a damn anymore didn't mean that they shouldn't at least keep up appearances, for the sake of professionalism.

Scieska wanted to be paid and Hawkeye had to explain that Maes Hughes had never really had the power to hire anybody, her mother's hospital bills had never been paid, and her whole employment had simply been a very cruel joke.

Denny Brosh wanted oral sex, and Hawkeye had to explain that he had better get the fuck out of her sight before she shot him in the balls.

And then there was Mustang.

"Haaaaaaaawwwwkeeeeeeyyyyeeee…!"

She was very quickly beginning to loathe the sound of her own name.

"Hawkeye Hawkeye Hawkeye Hawkeye Hawkeye!" The cries of 'Hawkeye' grew louder and louder as Mustang sprinted headlong down the hall straight at her, dragging along an oblivious Ling Yao behind him. Finally he skidded to a halt in front of her makeshift workstation and bellowed, "Hawkeye!"

"What." She said, rather tersely.

"I need an expense form," he said in a breathless rush. "Now. Now now now now now."

"I'll check to see if there are any remaining," she said, and turned to sift calmly through the box of forms. "Let's see… Shots Fired, Transfer Application, Ice Cream Truck Sighting…"

"Hawkeye!" The Colonel barked.

"Fine." She handed the form and a pen with a bomb custom-made by Kimblee attached. If the pen was taken off of the property, the bomb would explode.

Mustang frantically filled out the form, and then slid it across the table to Riza. "Sign this."

Riza looked down at the form. The name at the top read 'Riza Hock Hawkeye.' The monetary request at the bottom was for '$$350,000 !!!' and in the box where you wrote how the expenses were incurred, Mustang had hastily scrawled, 'i fucked up bad.'

"Let me get this straight," Hawkeye intoned, keeping her voice even. "You want me to sign an expense sheet in my name for what appears to be…" She looked down at the form in distaste, "Three hundred and fifty thousand… double dollars… when our accepted form of currency is the cen?"

"Yeah," said Mustang.

"No," said Hawkeye.

Mustang immediately burst into very noisy tears. "Oh God Hawkeye you have to help me. I can't pay for this. And Christ knows _he _can't pay for it-" He pointed at Ling, who waved. "He can't even speak English!"

"I thought we speak German," Riza said.

"Who cares? He's speaking fucking Japanese or some shit! Which means I'm on the line for three hundred fifty large, Hawkeye!"

"_Gomenasai_" said Ling politely.

"And you want me to commit fraud so that you once again fail to suffer any sort of consequences for your actions?"

"He'll cut me!" Mustang pleaded. "He'll cut my face Hawkeye, my pretty face, I'm too pretty to be cut!"

"Maybe the Fuhrer won't cut you?" Hawkeye offered.

"He loves to cut people!" Mustang shouted. "Remember that time he cut Falman because he wore the same outfit to work? Or when he cut Yoki because Hughes forgot to brew a new pot of coffee? Or when he cut Armstrong because he'd only cut three people that day? Of course he'll cut me! Fucker loves cutting!"

Hawkeye had to admit that the Fuhrer certainly loved to stab things. She'd always thought that it was a simple misguided attempt at creating a relaxed workplace atmosphere, but in light of the recent goings-on it was quite likely that Fuhrer Bradley was, in fact, an asshole.

"Okay, fine," Hawkeye said. "Get Ling to sign it. Tell him it's for his green card or something."

Ling raised his hands and said, in his native tongue, "_I do not wish to be cut by your asshole boss._"

"Oh shit," said Mustang, "What am I going to do? What am I going to do? What am I going to do?"

"I suppose," Hawkeye ground out impatiently, "That simply telling him what happened is out of the question?"

Roy was silent.

"Colonel Mustang?"

"No!" He hissed vehemently, "_My name is Jose_!"

"Sir," as much as it galled her to call him that, "I hardly think this is the best course of action-"

"_Me Llamo Jose!"_

"Jose!" Ling echoed.

"Jose Cuervo!" Mustang declared triumphantly. "Roy Mustang died heroically this afternoon after peeing on an electric fence. I am his replacement. Give me a marker."

"Oh for God's sake-" Hawkeye began, but was interrupted when Mustang reached over the table to seize a black felt-tip marker.

"Look," he said, drawing a garish and overly twirly mustache and goatee onto his face. "Unrecognizable." He drew a quick transmutation circle and alchemized a cartoonishly large black top hat.

"_Where did Colonel Mustang go?_" Ling asked.

"Jesus Christ," said Hawkeye, putting her head in her hands and wishing that either she or everybody else in the whole world was dead.

* * *

That same afternoon, Alphonse Elric made a very special post on The Board (the thing had acquired such significance that it was spelled with capital letters now). He pinned up two 8x10 glossy photographs, one of Edward Elric and another of Roy Mustang. Underneath these, with each letter written on a separate Post-It, was the message:

GOOD NIGHT SWEET PRINCE.

Beneath that, the first reply read 'lol fags.' It got worse from there.

* * *

FUNNY STORY: I was watching the original TV series with my 60+ year-old father when I discovered that he ships Roy/Winry. I was a bit disturbed. When I eloquently pointed out that he killed her fucking parents (in this continuity) he said something about how this would represent forgiveness or some bullshit. When I argued that Roy was something like twice Winry's age, he only responded that, "Japanese people are fucked up like that."

To this I really couldn't argue. (Remember Evangelion?)

Alternate licence plates for the Fuhrer's car included: FUCK U, DCTATR 4 LF, FSCSM ROX, HMNCLS PRIDE, ASSMAN (After one of the extras in the comics) and HTLR ALLGRY.


End file.
